Only by Blood
by ParadigmShifter
Summary: Noir Crossover. Is Blood thicker than Water? When honour and justice are on the line, it appears not...


Disclaimer: Joss, WB, UPN et al. own Buffy. Ryoe Tsukimura, Bee Train and ADV films own the rights to Noir.

Title: Only by Blood

Author: Paradigm Shifter

Rating: R. While it might not be as graphic as some stuff both I, and others write, I still think it may require an R at one stage or another…

Feedback: Oh yeah! While stuff I write has this incredible ability to either not get written, or write itself, it's nice to know when or if someone likes what I've done!

Crossover: Xander / Noir.

Notes: This is due, in no small part, to Enterprise1701_d and his excellent fic, 'For the Better', which happens to have Noir as a crossover in it. That was my first exposure to Noir, and after much conversation with Trevelyan1983, I went hunting for Noir on DVD. I found most of them… well, the early episodes, at any rate, and am now getting my first doses of some extremely well written anime. It's been a long time since a TV show has managed to pull the sort of conflicting emotions out of me that Noir succeeds to. So, anyway. Babble over.

Thanks: Trevelyan1983 for the long conversations we have had about various things: Noir, the future of Sunnydale Jedi and its sequels/prequels… Elysium… and other such things. Cheers mate.

*

[17 Years Earlier]

"I have to go, son. I have some… bad people on my trail. They may try to hurt you to get to me. I can't let that happen. I won't let that happen. You're all I have left."

The speaker crouched in front of the listener, a small boy, no more than two or three years old. He pulled a glove off, and removed a ring from his finger, placing it in his son's hand. He closed the child's fingers around it gently.

"Keep this safe. And remember: I love you. Never forget that."

The child looked close to tears, and was obviously trying to be strong. "I won't, papa. Won't forget."

The man smiled sadly. "My son. I never thought I would ever be able to set eyes on you. It is good, that for once, life proved me wrong."

A crash was heard in the distance, and the man looked up slowly. "You must get on the train. I can't protect you from them if you're here. Your uncle will be at the other end to pick you up. He'll treat you fairly."

He lifted the boy onto the train, and fixed the ticket Inspector with piercing eyes. "Keep him safe. Make sure he doesn't get into trouble."

The Inspector didn't smile, but his eyes showed his respect. "I will do this service for you, for your service to me."

The train began to pull out of the station, and only when it was too far away to see, did the man move to wipe away a lone, unwanted tear.

Then he ran.

*

[13 Years Ago]

"Uncle?" The young boy of six years walked cautiously through the silent house. "Uncle James?"

Silence responded.

The boy fell silent. Since the time he could walk, his father, and then his uncle in turn, had taught him how to move without making a sound. He employed the skill then, to move up the stairs and onto the landing, before peeking round the door to his uncle's room.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Uncle?" the boy hissed again.

He crawled through the doorway, low to the ground, and stood up when he saw the empty room. 

Then he looked over the other side of the bed.

"Uncle James!" On the pristine white sheets, a bright red stain was spreading. It was the same on the carpet. James lay… or rather, his body sat propped against the bed.

His head was nowhere to be seen.

Losing control of his stomach, the boy vomited in the corner of the room. He retched until only bile came out, and retched some more. Now he was aware of it, the sickly sweet smell of blood hit his senses like a sledgehammer. The taste of vomit in his mouth did nothing to quell his nausea.

Staggering over to the window, to try to get some fresh air, he saw a car.

A car with two people standing outside it, having an argument. The first, an impeccably dressed man in a tailored suit, shouted something at the second, who was dressed in cycling leathers, and ducked inside the car, which quickly drove off.

The cyclist hefted a can, and walked back toward the house. Opening the window a crack, the boy could just make out the words.

"Damned fool. He's better as an example to others than as a victim of a 'domestic accident'. Fuck Mr. High and Mighty. I know what I'm doin'. Mr. Childs needs his fuckin' head checked!"

The boy sat down on the floor, underneath the window. Childs. Now he had a name. But what was he going to do?

*

The house was in flames, and they were strong enough to threaten the buildings not only at either side, but opposite on the other side of the street too. Fire, Police and Ambulance services were present, and even neighbours were helping, not only to protect their own homes, but to aid in the dousing of a man who was nothing but kind to the people he lived near.

A young police officer was checking the bushes around the house, making sure to maintain a safe distance from the inferno. He looked back at where he had come from, and shouted.

"Sarge! Over here! Looks like a survivor!" The police officer called over his superior, and while waiting turned back to the boy who was slowly rocking himself in the bush, hidden almost completely from view.

"Well, Kev? What have you found?" 

"A… kid, sir."

The sergeant knelt down in front of the boy. "Hey, son. No ones gonna hurt you… were you in that house?"

The boy continued rocking.

"Sarge, I think he's in shock. Better get a paramedic over to check him out."

Jack Harris looked up. "It was your idea, you go do it. I ain't leavin' this kid here." 

A minute later, a paramedic was over and efficiently checked for any life threatening wounds. "Nah… he's fine." He grimaced. "Well, that's a bit of a stretch… if he lived here, he's gonna have some serious scars. About all you can do is get him somewhere other than this, that's warm and safe. He's been in this mud for… probably a couple of hours…"

Jack Harris nodded. "I'll take him back to the station. We can worry about anything else there." He reached forward, expecting the child to shy away, but he just stayed curled up, slowly rocking his head onto his knees, which were tucked under his chin.

He stood up with the boy in his arms. "Lead the way, Kev."

Walking over to a police car, he leaned in an open door and put the kid on the seat. As he reached to do the buckle up, the boy rolled sideways out of the door and between his legs.

Thinking he was having some sort of fit, or dying, Jack reached to stop him, but missed as he dodged the restraining hand.

Jack turned and watched, shocked, as the boy ran toward the burning house. Neither heat, nor light seemed to put him off as he ran with a child's energy to the blazing wreck of a home.

"Someone stop him!" Jack called in alarm, but no one was near enough.

A fireman in fire retardant clothing burst out of the sheet of flame that had been the front door. Only his timely appearance stopped the boy from running into the house. The fireman reacted to the small figure running toward him, and bent down, turning as he did, bringing the boy into a tight, but not unkind, hold.

"No!" the boy cried, "Uncle James! Uncle James!"

He began to sob uncontrollably as the fireman took gentle hold of his head, and turned it away from the inferno.

This much was certain: nothing would be recovered from that. It was hot enough to vaporise water from the hoses before it even touched the flames. What had started the blaze, God only knew, but it wasn't going out until it wanted to.

The fireman continued to hold the child, until the crying died to whimpers, and finally to silence as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

*

Jack Harris stood next to a desk in the precinct, and looked at his partner. "I want to know all you've got on one James Tanner."

Kevin Osborn looked up from his work, and nodded, before turning to the computer. "Sure, Jack. I'll get on it now."

Jack sighed, and continued. "But that kid… it's like he never existed. He doesn't have any records I can find, there's a big fat blank where a five or six year old life should be."

Kevin looked up, and coughed. "Um… James Tanner. Ex-military. Served in Vietnam, did three tours. Three purple hearts, one Silver Star, and one Congressional Medal of Honour. Jesus…"

Jack nodded silently, and moved round the desk to read over his partners shoulder.

"Never married… in one long term relationship until his girlfriend was killed in a botched mugging in New York, nine years ago, give or take a few months. Moved to Seattle, until five years ago, when he suddenly upped and left for San Francisco. Been living here since."

"Anything on convictions, stuff like that?"

Kevin shook his head. "Nothing. The guy was so clean you could have dug for years, and not even found so much as him stealing apples when he was a kid."

"What about the boy? We don't know his name, and he won't talk to any of the shrinks."

"James Tanner filed the paperwork for adoption of one Alexander, an orphan with no registered surname, four years ago. It seemed to be very sudden, the kid showed up, and that was it, he was adopted."

"Strange." Jack muttered.

"Yeah," nodded Kevin, "but that ain't the half of it."

"Go on."

"There are no adoption papers in the record."

"You mean? Tanner could have kidnapped him?"

"Nah. That ain't what I mean… Tanner's so squeaky clean it makes you sick. No way could he do that. I just mean that there _wasn't_ any 'Alexander' until he turned up with Tanner. No birth records, no hospital records, no one even matching his description. The kid just plain don't exist!"

"Is there _anything_ that could indicate why Tanner was killed and his house burned?" Jack Harris was clearly becoming a man at the end of his tether. The Captain was breathing down his neck for results, and all he could do was slam up against an impenetrable barrier stopping him from getting answers. It was like a fly on a windowpane.

"No. That's what gets me, more than anything. Despite pressure to call it a 'domestic accident'," Kevin looked up, "don't ask me, I don't know. Seems that there's some heat coming down from on high to cover it up."

He sighed, and turned back to the computer screen. "But I don't know… forensics doesn't think it is, and I think they're right… ah, fuck, I don't know!" Kevin slammed his hands down on the desk, bouncing the keyboard up slightly, and spilling coffee all over the paperwork there.

"Aw, shit!"

*

[6 Years Ago]

"Your training begins here." The woman spoke gently, with a smile gracing her features. Her cloak billowed in the gusts of wind that played through the courtyard.

The boy looked stubborn. "My training already began. When I was born."

"Good, then you have a head start. But, I fear, not as much as the True Noir." She smiled wider, and it was no longer an expression of joy, but a look of testing. "Kirika! Chloe!"

The boy gasped, and naked anger was shown for an instant in his eyes before he clamped it down. "Noir!"

*

[Present Day]

"Look into my eyes." The man spoke softly, as if scared to raise his voice above a whisper. In the large hall he was in, even a church mouse in its best slippers would have had a hard time making less noise.

Another figure knelt on the floor in front of the man. He was the one so addressed. Shaking slightly, he looked up, but closed his eyes as he looked into the face of Death Incarnate.

"Open your eyes." The man was quietly insistent. "Look at me. I want you to give me nightmares."

The kneeling man opened his eyes again, making eye contact with his soon-to-be murderer. His eyes flicked to the barrel of the gun that was mere inches from his face. His lips began to move, slowly and slightly at first, but gaining in fervour and volume as he continued.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…"

The man frowned, but then allowed the kneeling man to continue.

"Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth, as it is in Heaven…"

The man shifted one foot back, and aimed more carefully down the sight.

"Give us this day our dai…"

bang

The bullet sounded extraordinarily loud in the almost perfect silence of the hall. The kneeling man slumped backwards, and his eyes went vacant before they closed on the world for the last time.

The killer spoke. His voice just as soft as it had been before. "Amen."

Pulling a lone ring off of one finger, he knelt down on one knee beside the corpse, and clasped the ring in the cooling fingers of its right hand. "Fare you well, Brother."

In silence, he stood and walked away. A shadow detached itself from one wall, and fell into step beside him. A female voice, full of honey, but just as deadly quite as his, asked, "Are you sure that was wise?"

The man cast a sidelong glance at the blonde beauty at his side. "I'm sure. Although I may come to regret killing him…" he smiled, "as late as I did."

The woman shook her head, blonde tresses shaking with the movement. "You are a strange one."

"No stranger than you, Mireille. Or Kirika."

"He may have been evil, but he was still your brother, Xander."

Xander stopped, and looked at Mireille hard. "Only by blood." He said with a hint of menace, "Only by blood."

*

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